


Survivors Guilt

by femmelesbian



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-08-08 03:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmelesbian/pseuds/femmelesbian
Summary: Alan is dying, and that much is unavoidable.At least, everyone except Eric seems to have accepted that. This much is not surprising.And then it gets around to Grell.And then it gets messy.





	1. Chapter 1

Eric has spent a perilously long time planning, checking and scouting every inch of this plan, and he still feels like every move he makes is going to be the next one into disaster.

Not that he isn't already in the midst of disaster- oh, no, he crossed that line a long, long time ago and he's well past the point of no return. Thinking about it realistically, the point of no return was the very moment he even had the slightest glimmer of the idea of saving him. There's only one way forward from here, and he _knows_.

He tries hard to act like he isn't completely consumed by this, but the fact still stands that he's staying late doing 'paperwork', and he knows exactly what time this office will be completely empty- and he needs it to be empty, because where the hell else is he meant to keep supplies in case something goes wrong? Is he meant to just walk into the house- _'Sorry, Al, where do we keep the bandages? This one put up more of a fight than I thought.'_

Of course not. He may have completely abandoned all sense of morality and rationality, but self preservation was something he just couldn't afford to lose.

He looks at the clock- playing it safe, he could afford waiting another ten minutes for the office to be clear and without Alan being too suspicious- murder has a very tight schedule, you see, and Eric's starting to get antsy waiting. He can't raise suspicion among anyone, but he has to get this done tonight. Little and often, that's the tactic. Little and often.

But he doesn't know how much time he has left. No one does. Little and often becomes an obsessive habit under extreme pressure.

And he is under very extreme pressure. He has one man's life in his hands, and about fifty lives on his hands.

Alan is worth every single one. He’s already been through so much, both human and reaper, and he will not let him die unhappy yet again. It's almost like some kind of unspoken promise he made to him.

Eric is not a murderer out of nature. Far from it, in fact. Everyone knows about the supposed 'cure' for the thorns, but Eric never really believed it until he had to. He spent the whole of last month researching every other possible way to cure it, to come out with nothing. A month wasted, in fact- November is always a busy month for the dispatch, he could have gone relatively unnoticed.

It's hard. Everything about it is hard.

It's hard knowing the most important person in his life is dying before his eyes. It's hard knowing he can't do anything about it. It's hard keeping a secret from him.

He sighs, lighting a cigarette and trying not to think about it, updating the tally in the back of the notebook he keeps with him- fifty one. Nine hundred and forty nine left.

It has been a month, and he can already feel himself obsessing.

Eric hears a door close again, and is fairly certain that the last person just left, grabbing his scythe and jacket, leaving his office- the lights are all out, it _seems_ safe enough-

"Goodness, Slingby, that's an absolutely awful way of smuggling your scythe out of the office," A very familiar voice somewhere in the corridor, gratingly taunting, "Whatever do you need it for, anyway?"

"Sutcliff, what the-" Eric stops mid-sentence, suddenly aware of what he can smell.

 _Blood_.

God, it's so thick and heavy in the air he can almost _taste_ the metallic tones on the air, and feels around desperately for a light-switch, feeling oddly panicked- blood is not a normal scent in the office. Blood means danger. Someone got hurt. "What the fuck?"

Eric just stares at Grell- her office door wide open, white shirt covered in blood as she sits, unshaken, at her desk, re-applying her powder in a compact, not even looking up, "Oh, don't pretend to be so naive, who else would it be? Will?" She laughs a little at her own joke, scarily at ease, "I can't believe I didn't guess that this was you, though... this is rather precious, I must say- all this for one man?"

Eric deliberately chooses to play out being in shock a little longer, simply because he knows neither one will like what comes out of his mouth.

"Don't act so scared, I'm not a snitch," Grell says after a while, finally putting away her compact, "Come in. I need to talk to you."

"About what?" Eric asks cautiously, "And why the blood? Why give yourself away like that?"

Grell smiles, "That's all just part of the thrill, isn't it? Not that you'd know, of course-" She frowns suddenly, "Look at you, forcing answers out of me without doing as you're told- come in and I'll tell you."

Eric considers it for a while, before admitting to himself that Grell simply isn't a force to be reckoned with, sitting on her desk, "What do you want?"

Grell turns her chair a little to look at him, "You do know that this all of- well, this-" She gestures vaguely at Eric's scythe, "It's never been proved? In fact, Alan may well be the first reaper in centuries to have the thorns of death, there really aren't any promises about-"

"You think I don't know?" Eric snaps, "How fucking long do you think I spent looking for anything like a cure? You can't tell me anything I don't know."

Eric falls silent, fully expecting Grell to lash out at him, but instead she remains almost scarily calm, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses from the cupboard underneath her desk, "Have some." Shes says, pouring it out and handing it to him. It's not a request.

"Look, I know full well why you're doing this," She continues, crossing her legs, "And we're in no way comparable. You're doing this out of devotion, I'm doing this out of jealousy. I'm not a good person."

Eric stays silent, unsure of whether or not she's asking for reassurance or agreement, "What are you trying to say?"

A moment of sadness might flash across Grell's face, but it's too fast to know for sure, "They're after you," Grell explains, "Well, maybe not you, not yet, but they don't know that. But I haven't actually killed anyone, have I? Not yet, though, I suppose it's just a matter of time..."

Eric gives up trying to speak to her on equal levels- of Grell wants to be above someone, she will be, and there's nothing to be done about it. Grell commands the people around her with the ease and self-righteousness of a general to their army, and she doesn't have to say a word.

That's the main difference between the two. Eric is smart enough to do whatever he wants, while Grell is smart enough to have everyone else do what she wants.

Grell swirls her wine around in the glass a little, coming back from her thoughts, "I mean, props to me," She says, much too calmly for comfort, "I'm still both within the to-die list. Of course, I'm still way out of line, but she'd have killed those people with or without me. You, on the other hand..."

"I know."

"It's tragic, really." She looks up, "You didn't drink any of that wine. You should, it's an Italian vintage."

"I'm not really a wine person." Eric replies stiffly.

"I know." Grell says curtly, "But I don't keep wine in my cupboard as a decoration, Slingby. Drink up."

Eric takes a sip- Grell is not to be disobeyed, especially not now that she knows what he's doing. She could easily end it all for him right now if she wanted.

She has full power over him, and she knows. And she wants to make sure Eric knows, too.

"Do you like it?"

"No."

Grell takes the glass off Eric, drinking from it, "Shame." She replies vaguely, pausing for a while, "Just remember I'm not out to get you, Slingby. I'm on your side with this. Alan doesn't deserve this, and you sure as hell don't either."

Eric stays silent, unsure if he should thank her, agree with her, or both.

"Anyway, off with you, now," She says, suddenly full of personality again, "I can't have you in here while I change, I'm a woman of modesty, believe it or not."

Eric walks out, barely even mumbling a hello- he's out of time. That means he has to do double tomorrow. He can't possibly risk doing it quickly tonight, because Alan would be suspicious.

He might as well accept that he's already obsessing over this, but he can't help but feel like he's given in to too much already tonight.

~*~

"You're home late."

Finally, a statement that's concerned, rather than accusing.

And his _home_.

The fire's burning. Kettle whistling on the oven top. Alan's hair's wet, and he smells like lavender. And he's _warm_. So, so warm.

"And you're up late," Eric counters playfully, slipping off his shoes and giving Alan a quick kiss on the forehead, "Are you making tea?"

"No, I just like to listen to water boiling," Alan teases, "I'll get it done in a minute. You don't want anything to eat? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine, just tired," Eric says, not entirely lying as Alan walks back into the kitchen, "I'll be in bed before long."

"I should hope so!" Alan calls back, "I don't know how you manage to rack up this much overtime, your time management skills are _appalling_..."

Coming from anyone else, Eric would have been bored to tears by the sudden lecture, but it didn't come from anyone else. It came from Alan, who barely even means it, and it all comes from a place of love.

He's glad to have a home. He's glad to be able to see Alan in it too- he sees him in the flowers on the tables, in the vanilla scented candles. His books scattered around the house. The herbs in the kitchen.

This house bares every mark of being shared, being lived in, and being cared for, and that is what makes it, quite distinctly, Alan and Eric's home.

Alan brings in Eric's tea- in Eric's favourite cup, no less, and with the biscuit tin.

"I said I wasn't hungry," Eric says, smiling a little, "Didn't you make yourself any?"

"Just in case," Alan replies simply, "And no, I'm going to bed. G'night."

"Night," Eric replies, Alan leaning in for a kiss, "I won't be far behind."

Alan shakes his head affectionately, walking away, "Don't be too long, you look shattered."

Eric rolls his eyes, playing, "Love you too." He calls, hearing Alan make his way slowly up the stairs.

He feels a sink in his chest.

There is no way he can keep this a secret from Alan without something going wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric stays more on edge than he ever has been in his whole life for the next few days.

He can't  _help_ it- of all the people to find out, it  _had_ to be Grell. Grell, who isn't above using this against him. Who could easily spread it around the office. And once that happens, then-

"Everything okay, love?" Alan asks, buttoning up his shirt, "You're up a bit early."

Eric stretches a little in bed, "Everything's fine, I just didn't sleep that well," Well, it's only a half lie, "I got that cream you wanted the other day, did I tell you? The eczema one." He points to it on the desk

"Oh, you angel," Alan says gratefully, rubbing a little on the thorn shaped scars on his wrist, raw and red from incessant itching. They grew a little, but Eric doesn't mention it. He's sure Alan already noticed, he doesn't need him to add insult to injury (quite literally), "I'm off, I'll be back for five- enjoy your day off, sweetheart."

"I will." He mumbles sleepily out of habit, and that  _is_  a lie, through and through.

Eric doesn't  _get_ days off anymore- sure, Alan isn't too bad right now, but it's only been a month, and the white, thorn shaped scars slowly making their way up his arms do nothing to reassure him. And if it's just itching and breathing problems now, what will it be next month? Next week? Tomorrow?

No one knows.

Not even Alan.

God, he must be terrified.

He really hasn't gone into it much. Of course, there was the night he was diagnosed, which Eric would much rather forget entirely, but since then he hasn't really spoken about it at all.

Of course, he thinks to himself, getting out of bed and making his way to the kitchen, that's not to say that he hasn't thought about it. That he isn't scared. Eric has known Alan for a full human lifetime, and he knows very well that Alan has a lot of thoughts that he doesn't share.

He hears him crying when he thinks Eric isn't around a lot.

 _God,_ he just wishes he could help him some how.

Someway that's immediate, that would make him happy.

It's already very clear that Eric would do anything to help Alan. But if he could, he'd do anything else he could in a heartbeat, because while he might be able to keep a secret, there's no way in hell he can be a murderer.

Except it's not a secret anymore, he remembers, and an anxious wave gnaws away at his stomach.

Grell knows.

Grell  _fucking_ Sutcliff.

He might as well just run out into the street and yell it at the top of his lungs-  _"It's me, Eric Slingby! Murderer of fifty one and counting and the cause of your overtime!"_

He wants to collect another soul today. At least one.

Well, he doesn't  _want_  to at all. It's more of a compulsive habit at this point. But the point still stands that he  _can't_ \- he always does it late at night, a decent amount after his shift, and if he starts doing them whenever he can, they can trace it back to his schedule. And then he'll be completely done for.

He doesn't like that his and Alan's lives largely depend on Grell keeping her mouth shut. He doesn't like that at  _all._

He sighs, putting on the kettle for coffee and staring out the window for a while. He needs something to do.  _Desperately._

Expect he  _can't_ really do anything- he's so distracted and unfocused right now that even making coffee is proving to be nearing on impossible.

Normally he can keep the normal, everyday worries at bay- if Alan is okay, if he isn't  pushing himself too hard- but it's just the knowledge that Grell knows what he's doing, and that she could easily share it with the one person who can't know, that panics him to this extent.

He sighs, making his coffee and pulling a book off the shelf, determined to think about anything else.

He can only hope that everything's okay.

~*~

"First one of that day done! Not too bad, huh?"

Alan smiles back at Ronald, trying to hide his breathlessness- he can cope with whispers and gossip, at least for the time being, but the last thing he wants is for people to see how much of a toll this is having on him already.

He doesn't want Ronald to worry about him. He can barely tolerate Eric when he starts to worry, and Eric could get away with most things.

In fact, to Alan's knowledge, Ronald is the only person how hasn't treated him any differently since last month, except maybe William, but that hardly counts. No force on earth could make a dent in William's composure, or much less his schedule.

He really appreciates that from Ronald. Eric can try to pretend that everything's the same, but that's his  _life._ Eric is his life, and Alan is his, and there's no way around that. It  _can't_ be normal anymore. Normal has to change.

But it doesn't with Ronald. Ronald is just a coworker. A friend. Only just affected.

He and Ronald can hold each other at arms length with nothing to lose. That's the difference between him and Eric.

"Right on schedule, too," Alan replies, smiling and trying to act like everything's fine- well, it will be- "It's a good start."

Ronald beams, "Hopefully we can keep it that way- busy night tonight, I can't do overtime-"

"I swear  _every_ night is a busy night for you?" Alan prods teasingly, laughing.

"I'm a busy guy!" Ronald jokes back, "If I'm gonna be this young forever, I might as well enjoy it, right?"

Alan shake his head, smiling, "Well, make sure you do your work  _well_  is all I'm saying, or William will have your head on a silver platter."

"You sounds like you learned that the hard way."

"Mm- Eric learned the hard way, I watched." Alan says, and Ronald laughs a little, "Anyway, we should make our way back, since you're avoiding overtime at all costs."

Ronald gives a slight grimace, "S'pose so," He agrees, pulling out his scythe again to make the portal back, "I hate this, never really stops feeling weird..."

"It will eventually," Alan assures him, leading the way through, "and they quickly find themselves back in the hustle and bustle of the office, "Just give it some time. And make sure you have that paperwork done by your next collection!" He calls as Ronald walks away.

"I will, I will! Have a little faith!"

Alan hears a very familiar click of heels behind him, "That's the Knox kid, right? The junior that Will's convinced he can promote within the next month?"

Alan nods, "The very same one."

"Thoughts?"

"Well, he's capable, that much is certain." Alan replies, something of a fond smile on his mouth, "Good attitude, too. Maybe not too reliable, but I might be being a bit harsh..."

Grell frowns, "So it's not Will promoting for the sake of having enough seniors to go around in the winter?"

"Oh, for sure," Alan corrects, "He just knows how to pick them out. Knox has barely been here a year, I swear."

"I suppose he just has a personality that sticks out- a bit like someone else you know," Grell half-jokes, smiling and flipping her hair over her shoulder, "Anyway, I'll have to be off- I've a little consultation with Will that can't be missed." She gives an odd, and very characteristic, grin, tucking a red folder of paperwork under her arm.

"Me too, actually," Alan mumbles, absent-mindedly scratching his wrist- it's slowly becoming a nervous habit, but he can't help but wonder what will happen when it starts to spread. He snaps out of it quickly, though- there's a time and a place, and this isn't it, "Well, good luck- I still have to fill in these observation sheets for Knox."

"You're a mentor?"

"God knows," Alan sighs, "Anything goes this time of year. I just hope to all hell I'm not."

Grell laughs as she walks away, "Slingby said the same thing, you know!"

Alan shakes his head, completely helpless to the grin on his face as he makes his way back to his office- it always comes back to that with Grell, every single time- 'it wasn't that long ago you were only a junior,' and 'You were just as much work, you know' And her personal favourite, 'Slingby said the exact same thing about you, and now look!'- so much so, in fact, that he has to question how genuine said statements really are.

He sighs- part of him misses being mentored, and for a split second he misses sharing an office, too, until he looks at his filing cabinet and remembers that one of the main things he learned from Eric's mentoring is that having an organised filing system is both a privilege and a virtue.

That, and he needs a space away from Eric right now.

He feels awful for thinking that, even though he knows exactly how he means it- Alan is an introvert by nature, and he needs a space to be with himself and just  _think_ , especially at a time like this.

'At a time like this'- He has  _got_ to stop saying that, he scolds- this is your  _life_ now, this is not a  _time_. This is  _forever_. Forever has a time limit now, and he doesn't know what it is, either.

Everything operates on a time limit from here on out.

And so he'd better make a start on his paperwork while he waits for his meeting.

And still his mind wanders as he fills in his paperwork, almost entirely on muscle memory.

He can't help but wonder exactly how many people know he's sick- well, he knows that everyone knows that  _Alan Humphries_ is sick, it was all anyone ever spoke about for almost a whole week in November once it got out. But how many people know that's  _him?_ How many people made that connection?

He hopes it's no one. He can't deal with people knowing who he is right now.

Funny, how he started at the dispatch with loneliness and living in obscurity being his biggest insecurity, and now he takes solace in it.

Snap  _out_ of it.

He glances at the clock, praying he hasn't wasted too much time- his meeting is in five minutes, and he already knows  _exactly_ what it's going to be- his  _health_ , always his  _fucking_ health; it's been a  _month_ , and already everything is about his health, like he could just flatline at any given moment-

He blinks back angry tears, scribbling his signature at the bottom of his form with much more force than necessary.

You're  _dying_.

Accept it.

Not like there's much else you can do about it, realistically.

He puts the paper in his out basket, and stands up with shaky legs, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. In all technicality, Spears only knows that he's sick. He doesn't know  _how_ sick he is, and he fully intends to use that to his advantage.

Alan Humphries is not a liar, but he also isn't an idiot, and he won't pretend he's a saint.

After all, only the good die young, and Alan has long passed anyone's definition of young.

With a newfound vigour, he makes his way down the corridors and in front of Spear's office- he can hear him and Grell still talking behind the door in equally argumentative tones, and lets himself imagine what they could possibly still have left to fight over.

It's a half-hearted attempt at calming himself down, with half-hearted results.

Grell walks out shortly after, a flurry of red hair and overly-angry muttering, not even acknowledging Alan's existence, and he hopes for a minute that maybe Spears will, too, that he'll just forget-

"Mr Humphries?"

"Yes, sir?" He calls back reflexively, and mentally kicks himself.

"Come and take a seat."

Alan sighs, resigning himself to his fate as he sits down opposite William- he knows he's being overdramatic, but his health really isn't something he wants to discuss with  _anyone_ right now, much less his  _boss_.

"I called you in to discuss your health-" Alan has to bite his tongue- his health is one thing, but dignity is something he'd rather hold on to for as long as he can, "I spoke with some doctors, they seemed genuinely concerned about your condition-"

"It's not that bad yet-"

" _Yet._ And I'll thank you not to interrupt me." He replies curtly, calm composure seemingly infallible, "Point remains, Mr Humphries, that your health is precarious at best, and I would be nothing short of negligent to not accommodate to that."

"But I don't  _need-_ "

"I won't have you pushing yourself," William cuts gracefully, "It isn't good for you, especially not now. It won't be immediate, don't look so desolate, but it will be happening, Humphries."

Alan sighs- William's office smells like pencil shavings and coffee, and it's irritatingly soothing. He  _wants_ to be angry. It feels  _right_.

Alan isn't generally an angry person- quite the opposite, actually- but he can't help but feel an extreme sense of pride and stubbornness around his health.

He sighs, trying his hardest not to seem as annoyed as he really is. Calm communication is key- not that it would really help him now, once William makes a decision it becomes reality, but optimism is all Alan really has anymore.

"Sir, really, it's not at all necessary," He insists again, "It's barely even debilitating right now, there's no reason to reduce my workload right now, you'd only be putting yourself at a disadvantage-"

"It's not up for discussion," William replies simply, closing the folder in front of him, "You'll receive your monthly schedule in January with everyone else. You are dismissed."

"Sir-"

" _Dismissed._ "

Alan makes a graceful leave, but he can feel angry tears burning his eyes again. There's no use in being frustrated- especially when it's  _Spears_ , for God's sake, but he can't help but feel so disappointed. Call it what you will, but control is something Alan has a genuine need for, especially over himself. He  _wants_ to work. He  _wants_ it to be the same.

But he doesn't have a choice anymore, so it seems.

He doesn't even bother to pull out his handkerchief, he just wipes his eyes with his sleeve, because god  _dammit_ , he will  _not_ cry in public, and least of all in public,  _at work._

It's already been humiliating  _enough_ to have his workload cut.

He'll just have to save his tears for when he's home, with Eric and supplied with plenty of tea and biscuits, and enough blankets to bury himself in.

He takes a shaky breath, composing himself again. Three more hours. He just has to last three hours, and then he'll be okay.

But in all honesty, he really doesn't see this day getting any better.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hard at work, Will?"

"As you can clearly see," William replies dryly, scribbling his signature at the end of the form, "Must I  _really_ remind you of the importance of knocking, Sutcliff?"

"You were expecting me." Grell replies, leaning on the doorframe, arms folded.

"Ten minutes ago," William replies, barely missing a beat, "I'd began to hope you'd forgotten."

"How cold," Grell replies, pouting playfully, "I'm a busy woman, you know. I can't drop everything to see you at any moment of the day- as much as I'd love to."

William rolls his eyes, "Just sit down, we're tried for time as it is, now."

Grell throws herself into a chair on the other side of William's desk, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow, "You really ought to open the blinds in here- you're pale enough as it is, you know, you're not doing yourself any favours."

William may agree with Grell, but there's no way in Hell he'd ever admit that. His office is a dark enough place regardless of lighting- dark brown lacquered floor that's almost black, and may well have been older than either William or Grell, judging by the condition. The whole room had the undeniable smell of coffee and pencil shavings- something that appeared to follow William incessantly in the busy winter months- but there's a constant undertone of old documents from the huge, towering bookcases lining the walls. Would that he could, William would have gotten rid of them centuries ago. On the rare occasion that his mind wanders during work, it always seems to be about what comes next after this life- where former heads of management are now.

Especially now, it seems.

"What do you want with me, then?" Grell asks, smirking, "Am I finally fired?"

"I wish," William jokes back, deadpan, "Knox needs a mentor-

"Absolutely not."

William pauses for a moment, giving a world-weary sigh and putting down his pen, "If you would let me  _finish-"_

"Do I really need to?" Grell shoots back, "Will, I'm an overseer of death, not a  _babysitter_."

There comes a point in most conversations between William and Grell where William abandons all professionalism, and it would appear that this is it.

"Considering your commitment, I believe 'overseer' is somewhat hyperbolic," William scathes, turning back to some paperwork, "And beyond that, you don't don't really have a choice in if you mentor him or not. Humphries was my first choice, but..."

Grell either doesn't notice, or doesn't care about the slight falter in William's voice, "So get Slingby to do it. He's experienced, he'd probably be up for it-"

"You know as well as I do that Slingby couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery." William says breezily, putting get another piece of paper onto the pile of finished forms.

"He can, and he  _does-_ quite frequently, actually, that's half the problem here." Grell mumbles moodily, and the corners of William's mouth twitch.

"So you see my point?" William asks, looking over the top of his glasses.

" _Not_ what I said." Grell sighs dramatically, "There has to be  _someone_ , Will, this is  _ridiculous-_ I'm busy, you know."

"Believe me, I'm not happy about it either," William replies, "But it is what it is, I'm afraid. Perhaps you'll find that mentoring someone will help improve your own work ethic."

"Will, I'm being serious, I  _can't-"_

"Why not?" William asks, "What exactly are you so busy with, Sutcliff?"

Grell falls silent, staring at William, perfectly manicured brows furrowed in frustration.

"That's what I thought."

"Bastard."

"I'll be generous and pretend I didn't hear that," William says dryly,  "Mainly because I only have five or so minutes before I'm due to see Humphries. You know, I really don't see what your problem is, he's a perfectly nice man."

"I  _know_ he is, it's not about  _him,"_ Grell insists, sinking in her chair, head in her hand, "I'm just..."

"Desperate to shirk all responsibility?" William finishes, and Grell shoots him another glare, "Don't look at me like that, you might as well have admitted it yourself at this point."

Grell looks at the man in front of her- the man she's known since they were students; the man she's been through thick and thin with; the man who, admittedly, knows her better than most people ever will.

"You love me really," She insists, stretching her long legs a little, "So, what? Are you done with me?"

"You need to sign this." William says, pushing a form towards her, and handing her a pen. It's not a request.

Grell raises her eyebrows, sarcastic, "Since you asked  _so_ nicely." She says, signing her name at the bottom of the form, "I really don't get paid enough for this shit."

"Neither do I, don't sit drowning in self-pity." William replies as Grell heads for the door, "Oh, Grell?"

Grell hesitates a little at the use of her first name, "Will?"

"Slingby..."

Grell's breath catches in her throat, her grip tightening on the cold metal of the door handle so much her knuckles turn white.

"Just- keep an eye on him, okay? Don't make it obvious, I just..."

"Don't worry, Will," She insists flashing him a smile and opening the door, "He's fine, I spoke to him the other day."

Will raises an eyebrow, "Fine? Really?

"You know what I mean. Alan's out here, you know." She says, and promptly leaves, heels clacking against the floor.

~*~

When it comes to comfort, there is no other like Eric Slingby.

Yes, Alan is biased. But rightfully so.

Allowing himself to wallow in his own pity really is a luxury for Alan, and not one he lets himself indulge in all that regularly- he has a lot more pride than he'd ever really like to admit, so much so, in fact, that he feels embarrassed at even letting himself break down alone.

But Eric somehow manages to numb all feelings of shame and restraint- granted, they're still there, but it's the most that he can do, which is a lot more than a most people could do.

And it's just through simple compassion.

Blankets. Lots of blankets, and soft ones, too. And tea- Alan has a lot of tea stored in their cupboards, and he knows full well that Eric knows next to nothing about any of it, and still he manages to bring in exactly what Alan needs- hot chamomile. It's even made with honey, to help soothe his throat from all the crying.

Alan hates crying. The only thing worse than crying alone is crying in front of others, and that's because that's the difference between admitting weakness to yourself, and then giving into it.

And it's embarrassing. And Alan can't deal with feeling embarrassed at all.

And yet here he is, dealing with it.

In fact, the past month has largely been him saying that he can't do something, and then proceeding to do it.

It sounds empowering, but if anything, it's the complete opposite.

But he just tries to forget about that for now.

He has blankets. He has tea. He has Eric.

And equipped with the three, and perhaps an extra sprinkling of willpower, he can just about make it though tonight.

"Did he say when?" Eric asks, sitting next to him, freshly armed with a box of tissues, and Alan's head instantly finds Eric's shoulder.

Alan shakes his head, swallowing his pride and dabbing at his eyes with a tissue, "No," He says, trying to keep his voice steady, "Just that they'd slowly reduce my workload- I'm sorry, this is such an overreaction-"

"No, no, I get it," Eric replies, gentle as ever, "Whatever you need, Al, I'm here for you."

Alan doesn't reply, but he barely needs to. Eric doesn't comfort for the sake of getting a response- for the sake of playing the saint- and Alan has gotten to know this very well. Eric comforts entirely for the purpose of comfort. For making it known that he's available for help. There's no other motive; he comforts because he cares.

Eric is just straightforward by nature, which is really all Alan needs and wants at a time like this, when nothing is straightforward, and things are changing before he even gets the chance to realise they're about to change.

He's known this in the back of his head for about as long as he's known Eric- not really in the way he knows now, though, and it's a strangely unwelcome realisation.

"You'll be alright," Eric mumbles, suddenly pulling Alan in for a hug, "Everything's going to work out."

Alan really can't tell if he's saying that for Alan or himself, but either way, it's a blatant lie.

And it's a lie that makes Alan burst into tears all over again.

This is  _not_ going to be okay. It  _can't_ be okay, and he knows that very well. There's no point in denying it, it's a  _fact._ Alan is  _dying_.

Eric holds Alan even closer, and both become acutely aware that Alan is not the only person who Eric is trying to comfort here.

They stay like that for a few moments- unspeaking and shaking- before Eric speaks again, "Is there anything you want?"

Alan has to completely suppress the urge to break down all over again and howl that he doesn't know what he wants, when he wants it, or even if he wants anything, and even then, it takes a little effort to completely suffocate the thought.

Sobbing, tears and hurting will not help him right now, he thinks calmly to himself. He is a phoenix- he has roses from his own ashes once before, and it's beginning to look like he will again and again until he runs out of fuel, if tonight is anything to go by.

"I'm fine," Alan insists, wiping his cheek, "I just need to go to bed."

"Do you have work tomorrow?"

Alan pauses to think a moment, "Yeah, from eight in the morning..."

"Christ..." Eric muses- Alan knows full well that if Eric had it his way, Alan wouldn't be going to work at all tomorrow, but to tell Alan that he can't work tomorrow would only really be fuelling the fire, "Just- don't push yourself, yeah?"

Alan feels a twinge of anger, "I won't," He snaps, not fully able to hide his anger, "Why would I?"

Alan knows the answer to the question before he even asks it- it's just how he is. Even before the thorns, he was constantly working himself much too hard, and now he's sick, it only really seems to have amplified that in him.

He sits for a moment, reflecting on that, and comes to the conclusion that it's an entirely useless thought in the first place. It's no  _surprise_ that he's stubborn, and said stubbornness is stopping him from doing anything with the fact that he pushes himself too hard.

"I'm going to bed." He announces, standing up- his vision goes black for a moment and he feels so dizzy he might faint, but he ignores it. He's going to bed, and he's going  _soon_.

Eric seems to notice that something's wrong, and simultaneously realises that if he points it out in any way, shape, or form, Alan might just scream.

"Goodnight," Eric says earnestly, Alan already halfway up the stairs, "Sleep well."

Alan makes a vague humming noise in response, and a door shuts somewhere upstairs.

Eric groans into his hands, feeling as if he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He has a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! i hope everyone had a good holiday season and i'll try and be faster with updates in future


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah. You're Knox, then."

Grell scans the boy leaning in her doorway- he's young, somewhere in his early 20s, and a little shorter than Grell in her heels. He's a little stocky, with a tanned, freckled face and a cocky smile, "That's me."

"Come  _in,_ then, it's rude to hover in doorways." Grell snaps, already moody- mentoring is the  _last_ thing she wants to be doing. She meant it when she said that she doesn't have time to mentor, and had she been able to explain exactly  _why_ , she probably would have gotten her way.

But it is what it is, and now she's stuck with some brat who  _clearly_ thought- and hoped- he'd be having Alan as a mentor, too.

Ronald throws himself in a chair, and Grell sighs, turning to face him, "Look, I'm just going to assume you already know what you're doing from Humphries-"

"Practical work, yeah- I'm still shaky with paperwork."

Grell sighs again, a lot sharper; of  _course_ Humphries would. Of  _course_.

"Besides the point," Grell continues, "I'm not mentoring material. I've heard you're pretty capable as it is, all I'll be doing is just going over what you don't know, and then you're on your own."

"So, the bare minimum." Ronald replies shortly, not looking as annoyed as Grell expected him too.

"Exactly," Grell answers, surprised that he doesn't seem to be kicking up a fuss "Just think of it as learning independence."

Ronald leans back a little more in his chair, at ease, "Only, I thought I'd..."

"Have Humphries as your mentor? As did I."

He looks at the ground for a moment, confidence faltering a little, "Is he, like... Really sick? Like, 'not getting better' sick?"

Grell hesitates as well, "Yes, he is," He replies, "That's why he's not mentoring you."

"God... as if it's not bad enough the first time."

That hits the wrong nerve, somehow.

"I hardly think it's your  _place_ to be talking about him like that." She snaps, uncharacteristically protective of Alan's private life, "You barely  _know_ him."

She only realises what she's said after she says it.

And she feels  _awful-_  she  _knows_ she would have quite happily gossiped for hours on end about Alan- not because she doesn't care, but because she knows that Alan doesn't, at least not anymore.

But now she's a  _part_ of something. Now she  _knows_ that it's so much more than one man being sick.

And the worst part is that she's barely even  _friends_ with either Eric or Alan. She can't  _possibly_ explain why she cares so much.

She has a  _reputation_ , damn it. Hold it together.

Ronald shifts awkwardly in his chair, looking at the floor, "I'm sorry- wasn't thinking..."

Grell gives a little huff, thoughtful, "No worries," She replies, turning to look for something on her desk, "I'll find you some paperwork to do..."

"But- wouldn't I have to have been on the field before?" Ronald calls, confused, "I used to do all my collections with Mr. Humphries, and then he'd do the paperwork himself..."

Grell sours a little- that man is much too independent for his own- or anyone else's- good, "Well, you're very lucky in the fact that I'm especially overloaded with paperwork, so we've managed to cut out that stepping stone." She pushes a form towards Ronald, throwing herself back into her chair and taking a sip from a teacup.

"So I'm doing your work for you?"

Grell shifts her eyebrows a little, "Think of it however you want; you're learning, aren't you?" She insists, and peers over his shoulder, "The names are already there, I'll tell you cause of death. The trick is to keep it brief."

"What's 'notes' for?"

"You only really need that should you spare them."

Ronald's brows furrow, "You can do that?"

Grell looks at him, mouth open slightly- she knew there was a rush, she'd heard all about it, but this was  _unbelievable_ \- "Exactly how long did you spend in the academy?"

"The full year, I swear!"

Grell puts her hands on her hips, "And how much of that year did you spend hungover?"

Ronald sours, but doesn't answer.

"Thought so," Grell says, "You'll be the same Ronnie that's been making a stir in general affairs since September."

"I've heard plenty about you, too," Ronald grumbles, "You've got no place to be telling me right from wrong."

"Of course not," Grell replies smoothly, "I don't know what you learned at the academy, but as long as you're with me, the only rule is to get the job done by any means necessary. Come into work hungover, and on your own head be it."

"Didn't think you'd care."

"Not me," Grell replies, taking another sip, " _Will_ \- Mr. Spears to you. Natural causes." Grell tacks on, pointing to the cause of death box, "By god, he'd have your head on a silver plate if you did something like that this time of year."

Ronald wrinkles his nose, "You all seem a bit la-di-da up here in the senior branch."

Grell ruminates a while, "I suppose," She replies, "Not really, though... You know, by all accounts, Will grew up drinking out of jam jars- It's made him something of an inverted snob."

Ronald signs the bottom of the form, "So you can gossip and I can't?"

" _Attitude._ " Grell warns, fierce, "I've been here god knows how long, you've barely been here a year."

Ronald sulks a little, folding his arms, "I'm basically already a senior."

"You're hardly a junior, from what I've seen today," Grell snaps, "You've gone through all your training at the speed of light, and you need to buckle down-  _sharpish_."

Ronald falls silent a moment, glaring at the form as if it was somehow it's fault, "Where should I put this?" He mumbles eventually, swallowing his pride.

"The out box," Grell says, pointing, "I'm going to need a lot less of the bratty sulking if you and I are going to get along, Knox."

Ronald shifts his eyebrows a little, "Whatever you say."

"That's the spirit."

~*~

"You've really done a number on the house, Al."

Eric leans in the front doorway, lighting a roll-up, Alan tending to some flowers in the garden, "What else do you expect me to do?" He calls, "I can't work, might as well do something productive..."

Eric gives a short sigh, walking over to kneel next to him, "You're meant to be  _resting_. You were really sick this morning."

"I can hardly rest forever."

"Al, it's December," He says gently, "You've probably come down with something."

"Never stopped me before." Alan replies stiffly, becoming rather more focused on cutting down a patch of wilted lavender, not meeting Eric's eyes.

"I  _know_ , you've always been a stubborn sod," He manages to earn a laugh from Alan that puts his mind at rest, "It's a miracle you even stayed off work."

"Well, this stubborn sod cleans the house and tends to the garden, so I don't see any reason to complain," Alan teases back, "Unless, of course, you  _want_ me wasting away in bed, house in shambles, all our plants dead and uncut-"

"Alright, alright!" Eric laughs, "You do what makes you happy."

Alan smiles, shaking his head, "Did you see Ronald at all? Do you know how his day went?"

"He was looking a bit worn out when I saw him leave, but he's been with Sutcliff all day, so it's not really surprising."

Alan wrinkles his nose a little, "Sutcliff?"

"The one and only."

"Christ..." Alan sighs a little, "Well, I suppose if Spears wants him trained up quickly, that's the way to go about it..."

"Hey, you knew you weren't going to mentor him long term, why do you care so much?" Eric teases, "No feelings on the job, remember?"

"I can't help it," Alan says, giving a melancholy little laugh, "He's just a kid..."

"I know, but fact remains," Eric takes a drag, and Alan wrinkles his nose again, "As harsh as it is, he's just a co-workers and he's not your responsibility anymore. You've got enough to worry about."

Eric knows the exact look that Alan gives him-  _'What if I don't want to worry_ '- "You know, Al," He says, after a moment's thought, "You don't have to worry about everyone you ever cross paths with."

Alan looks as if he debates a reply for a second, and gives up on it entirely, "I'm going back inside. It's cold."

Eric sighs, taking one last drag before putting his cigarette out- he knew he risked hitting a nerve with that, but it's a risk he has to be willing to take. Alan's too caring for his own good, and Eric's ready to do anything and everything to protect him.

It's just temporary, he assures himself, the cold biting his cheeks as he pulls out his notebook from his blazer pocket. He adds one more to the tally in the back- fifty two down, nine hundred and forty eight to go. All the tension, arguments and secrecy are  _temporary._

Alan will get better, and everything will be okay.

Eric goes back inside with a sigh, "Tea?"

"Way ahead of you," Alan replies as Eric walks into the kitchen, holding his hand out "Match?"

Eric hands him the box, and Alan lights the hob, kettle on top, and wraps his arms around Eric, "I missed you today." He mumbled, muffled against Eric's chest.

Eric presses a kiss to the top of Alan's head, and he takes a moment to be in the moment- Alan smells like lavender, and Eric just breathes in and  _forgets-_ forgets that Alan's dying and that he's a murderer, however you try to justify it.

For now, their lives are not being ripped up by the roots and ruined.

For now, everything's normal, and for now, everything  _will_ be okay.

"I missed you too," He replies softly, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Clearly not," Eric retorts, "It's not nothing if it's upsetting you."

"It's just...  _everything,_ " Alan replies, sounding exhausted, "A lot happened these past few days."

"I know," Eric says, a hand going to bury itself in Alan's hair, "That's why I wanted you to rest a little today."

Alan gives a sigh- a sigh that Eric's come to recognise that, in all of Alan's stubbornness, is a sigh of defeat.

"I'll make the tea," Eric says, giving Alan one last kiss on the forehead, "You go and get comfy in the living room."

Alan gives a weak, but heartfelt, smile, "I love you."

"I love you too, my darling."


	5. Chapter 5

"Ah, Sutcliff. Fashionably late, as per usual."

William doesn't even look up as Grell comes in, garishly red against the black and white of the other seniors.

Grell remains equally untouched, throwing her her hair behind her shoulder, "Glad to hear you think I'm fashionable, Will," Grell smirks, pulling out her chair, "Good morning, everyone- I'm assuming I didn't miss much?"

"Nothing of interest." Eric says dryly, earning the same warning look from both Alan and William.

William sighs, standing at the head of the table, "I hate these meetings much as the rest of you, in honesty, but they must be done," He says, dropping an unreasonably thick folder onto the table, jolting a few other seniors awake, "So  _pay attention_."

There's a few scattered mumbles of 'sorry' as William sits down, adjusting his glasses and flipping through his folder, "No point in wasting time, you all know what a senior meeting is for, I should hope... Mentoring- I apologise for the amount of new mentors this time, we're understaffed as it is-"

"We've never  _not_ been understaffed-"

"My apologies, Mr Slingby; I'll explain the situation to the dying, perhaps they'll be more considerate," William replies dryly, not even looking up, "Sutcliff- How are you managing?"

"With mentoring?" Grell asks, looking up from her nails.

"Obviously."

She gives a passive look, shrugging her shoulders, "He's a total brat, but he'll be a senior in a few months.

Alan looks up, "Grell, if you want, I could-"

"No you couldn't, Mr Humphries," William interrupts effortlessly, "I've already written out all the forms for the higher-ups. You have your own work, focus on it."

"I don't mind being considered for back up-"

"Not happening."

"I'm  _good_ at mentoring, you're not making any sense-"

" _Mr Humphries_." Alan falls silent, looking at the floor, "I understand, but it's not a possibility." William says, much more gently this time, "Thank you for offering."

Alan sinks a little in his chair, arms folded, and William gives a tiny, barely audible sigh, "Do we have any other issues to discuss?"

Another senior raises his hand, hesitant, "Yes, Bramwell?"

"The people being being killed who aren't on the to-die list-"

Eric stretches, and yawns a little too loudly, and William's eyebrow twitches a little, "I'm doing the best I can, Bramwell. The best you can do is worry about your own work for now."

"Why not contact higher ups for an investigation? People are  _dying-_ "

"Are you telling me how to do my job?"

Bramwell flushes, "W-Well, no, I-"

"That's what I thought," William replies, placid, "Does anyone have any other issues they'd like to raise?"

Another senior raises her hand, "We were meant to get the to-die list for next month last week and we still haven't..."

William nods, taking a note, "I'll take it up with the documents department," He agrees, "If that's all, you're all free to leave."

He manages to catch Grell's eye through the shuffling and scraping of chairs and mumbled conversation, signalling for her to stay behind a while. She rolls her eyes a little, pulling out a compact mirror and fixing her hair, sat on the table.

"Whatever do you want with me now, Will?" She asks once the room's been emptied, resting her head in her hand.

William shifts a little, and for the first time in a while, looks genuinely uncomfortable, "I'm just saying you might want to wise up, is all."

Grell frowns a little, crossing her legs, "Alright, noted," She grumbles, "Is that it?"

"You know what I mean," William replies, somewhere between gentle and scolding, "I'm- Well, I'm..."

"Making exceptions for me?"

"I am  _not,"_ William retorts, getting flustered "I'm just saying, if this  _is_ something to do with you, this is your warning. There's only so long I can let it happen, and so much I can intervene, and it would be hell to lay off a senior right now."

"Of course. Because God forbid anyone think you care about me." Grell replies, smirking a little- she  _hates_ how William just  _knows_ things about her, how they don't even have to outright say what they're talking about and what secrets they know about each other, "Don't  _worry,_ Will, I'm not stupid."

"I know, you just act like it sometimes."

Grell folds her arms, huffing, "Me and Eric are getting drinks tonight, you should come. You're stressed."

"I  _noticed_ ," William replies, "I would l-"

"-I'm  _so_ sorry these are late, Sir, the faxes just got fixed- I tried to pass the message on but general affairs has been down, too, I..." A tired, overworked woman stands in the doorway, clutching a folder to her chest, cheeks flushing as she trails off "...Is it a bad time...?"

"Very much so, Miss Brooks," William replies calmly, taking the folder and thumbing through it, "All seems to be in order, but might I remind you of the importance of  _knocking_ before you enter a room?" He hands the folder back to her, straight-faced.

"Sorry," She mumbles, hanging her head, "It won't happen again."

"Don't worry, Amelie- but if you wouldn't mind...?" Grell hands her a teacup.

"Hand this into general affairs on your way," William replies, handing her back the folder, "Thank you."

"You're welcome- Sorry for interrupting you two..."

"You didn't interrupt any-" William begins, but she's long since out the door and down the corridor, "This office is a  _nightmare_..."

"Drinks, then?"

"I can't, I'm busy."

"It didn't sound like that's what you were going to say earlier."

"I'm not going," William replies, firmer this time, "Unless, of course, you'd like me to do my paperwork at the bar?"

"Alright, alright," She gives in, sliding off the table, her hands up in defeat, "Just don't say I don't invite you anywhere."

"Of course not," William replies, blasé, "And I'm really not a fan of gin."

Grell folds her arms, stroppy, "Rude of you to assume we're going to a gin palace."

"Of  _course_ you are, it's cheap." Grell falls silent, "Am I wrong?"

Grell forces down a grin, "I have work to do."

"How convenient."

~*~

Grell, for what might have been the first time in her life, had certainly been understating when she said Ronald had been making a stir in general affairs.

"I talked to him yesterday, he was getting drinks with some other juniors," One woman giggled to her friend, slowly attracting a small crowd, "He's so  _funny-_ "

"Did he offer to buy you any drinks?" Another girl presses, smirking.

The first girl giggles again, blushing a little, "I let him- nothing more than that, though..."

Grell rolls her eyes, "Ladies." She slides her paperwork through the slot of the glass screen.

A brunette grins at her, "Aren't you the Knox boy's mentor?"

"Whatever you're going to ask me to do, no."

Another girl frowns, "You couldn't even ask him to call me back?"

Grell scoffs. How typical of him.

There's a broad laugh, and Grell turns to see Eric walking through the double doors into the office, paperwork in hand, "I though this was your sort of gossip, Sutcliff."

Grell rolls her eyes, much more playful this times, "I'm interested in  _men_ , not boys, Slingby."

"Ah," Eric says, giving his paperwork one last scan over, "So what you mean is that you're getting old."

"Look at who's talking!" Grell teases right back, folding her arms, "Calling  _me_ old- you ought to watch your mouth."

Eric grins, walking out with Grell," He's alright really, you know."

"You say that, but you're not mentoring him," She grumbles, "Then again, I suppose you've gotten a better deal than any of us from your student- lucky bastard... you got  _Alan,_ and I get some silly little brat who couldn't care less about his work if he tried..."

"Oh, come on, he's a kid," Eric scolds gently, "You're hardly the same since  _you_ first got here. And you're  _hardly_ one to talk about not caring about your work."

Grell folds her arms, scowling, "I get it  _done_. And I know how to, as well, which is more than can be said for him."

Eric shakes his head, "He's a  _kid._ " He says again, holding the door open for Grell, who waits until it shuts again with an echo throughout the empty hall to change the subject.

"How are things with getting the souls?"

Eric winces- he wishes to god she wouldn't speak so bluntly. He's not so good himself, admittedly, but he's also a lot more sensitive than he realised, "Alright, I guess- Alan doesn't have any clue, which I suppose is the aim..."

"He's going to catch on at some point," Grell says shortly, "One thousand is a lot of people, Eric."

Eric falls silent, face darkening slightly.

"Why are you carrying this on?" He asks suddenly, breaking the silence, "She's just a human. Why put yourself in danger for her?"

"It's not for  _her_ ," Grell scoffs, very aware that she's lying, "It's just helpful, that's all."

Grell absolutely  _will not_ admit that she feels as if she's covering for Eric- people  _expect_ this from her- the blood, the guts, the melodrama- and what's more, she can  _afford_ to get caught. It's only her life on the line if she gets caught.

And beyond that, Grell will not-  _cannot_ \- admit that she's gotten herself far too tangled up in her own emotions through this whole mess- you know,  _real_ emotions this time, not the over-exerted, fabricated melodramas of everyday life- Grief. Love. Terror. Things she has definitely felt, but since shaken off and taken to the romanticised, over-saturated, as-seen-on-TV version.

Eric shakes his head, "I don't get you."

In fairness, Eric holds self-preservation above all else, and always has, and Grell never has, and doesn't really have any interest in.

"Well, it don't really matter," She mumbles, pulling out her pocket-watch, "Ah,  _shit-"_

Eric raises a questioning eyebrow, "I'm afraid I'll have to love you and leave you, darling," Grell says, suddenly snapping back to her usual character, "I've got a collection now, and it's the first with the boy-"

"He has a name."

"I'm aware," Grell replies, already at the door, "I'll talk to you later."

Grell arrives at her office a couple of minutes, expecting to find Ronald inside, bored-

"You're  _late._ " Grell accuses, catching Ronald approaching her office from the opposite direction, both slightly out of breath.

"So are you!" Ronald snaps back as Grell opens the door of her office to get the documents, "You can't exactly whine at me-"

Grell puts a hand on her hip, tapping her foot impatiently, "Are you coming or not? I don't know if you've noticed, but death is on sort of a tight schedule."

Grell mentally winces- She sounds like William, only with more personality.

Ronald huffs, "Alright, alright..." He grabs his scythe, "Everyone's got a problem around here, I swear..."

Grell hands him the documents, "Give these a read-over on the way, you're doing this one on your own."

"-Come  _on-"_

"How else am I meant to know how good you are at this?"

Ronald sighs, "I already  _told_ you I'm alright..."

"Well, now you can prove it." Grell replies simply, "If you hurry up, we'll be there on time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI im not dead!!! sorry for not updating for Even longer than usual skjsjkd i have exams soon so ive been rly busy so it'll probably be a while until i next update too :( but its Not abandoned unless i say so or take it down

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr for updates! It’s bi-Grell-sutcliff


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